Fuck.
Now it’s only work. Each day bleeding into the next, barely scraping by. I tire myself out just so I can rest. But rest it rightly comes and when it does, I come out and go home because it’s much too quiet. Seems that I’m not suited to being in love. And everyone around me’s changed but the garden that you planted remains. I think about you, maybe more than I should. But the smog is getting old the drugs I’m taking aren’t so good. So will you talk to me, even though you’ve had a late night? Because I need a little help. Baby, tell me I’ll be alright cause everything around me’s changed but the garden that you planted remains.
Photograph by Nan Goldin.
Photograph by Nan Goldin.
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